Golden
by The Wyvern
Summary: Troubled to the core, Ichigo seems less than he ever was... What could have caused him to break inside so much? The golden life of his fury seems quenched by sorrow and pain...IchigoxRukia, it's angsty and dark. 1st Bleach fic, review! FINISHED!
1. Broken

_-----I don't own anything Bleach, and this is a first try at fan fiction! Send me comments_

It started like any other day.

Well, almost…

_Kurosaki residence, early morning_

Rolling over under his sheets, Ichigo opened sleepy eyes to greet the new day with his telltale frown. Groaning, he shut his amber irises again and turned over, slamming his face forcefully in his pillow, as if this gesture could somehow make him forget that he had to attend school in a very short while.

Hitting blindly someplace near his bed, he shut the alarm, and groaned once again. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he could almost picture her serious face, discouraged at his lack of courage toward the sun, the tasks at hand, life itself. Hurriedly, he sat up on his mattress, looking around, as if the simple fact that he thought of it and didn't feel the moment happening was just… wrong. Then, he shuddered.

Disgust, discouragement perhaps? He sighed heavily, resumed his frowning and scratched his unruly orange locks absentmindedly.

"So much for usual mornings…"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"ICHIGO!"

He mumbled dreamily, not quite placing his surroundings. It was all so hazy…

"Ichigo! Ichi…!"

He blinked, several times, starting to feel like a sleepwalker.

ICHIGO! Oi, Ichigo!

Frowning deeper, he suddenly took his bearings, lifting his head toward the shadowed grounds of the school, where the building towered its presence under the hammering rays of that blasted sun. From the roof, he could see hands in the air. Asano, as energetic as ever, was waving at him frantically from their usual lunch spot.

"Come on up Ichigo!

Distinguishing several silhouettes up there, albeit barely, since he had to squint so much, he raised a hand in a distracted salute, not muttering a word, then swung his schoolbag on his shoulder and went toward the steps.

"Dumbass, could have bumped on a trashcan or something…" He murmured to himself.

_Since when did I start spacing out so much anyways? _Grumbling, he fell back into contemplative reverie.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

From their spot on the grassy grounds, the small group of girls spotted Ichigo walking toward the school from miles away. Under this kind of blasting light, his hair shone like a beacon, a big, luminous warning siren. Worriedly, Tatsuki threw a careful glance toward her friend Inoue, who unmistakably wore that expression again… Grrrr!

Now, even Chizuru wasn't her bubbly self around the nymph-like girl. As if her fake cheery eyes, always a few moments after she would spot him, hurt the female maniac to the core. Much to say, it really took a lot to shake that crazy girl out of her rockers!

Hearing the soft sigh coming from the soft and compassionate girl, Tatsuki couldn't resist cracking her knuckles for what HE did to her. He might not know, or perhaps he didn't care. Men's ego sometimes…

Still, knowing her friend hurt because he was careless around her best of friends made her angry. Every time she cornered him, he kept evasive, distant… almost like… a ghost.

"I-I… I wish he would smile. I miss his surprise grin on days like this." Inoue blurted out suddenly. Turning her eyes toward her, Tatsuki couldn't agree more. Sure, since when it happened, so long ago, he never was the same, but now…

Orihime…

Even gloomier, the spectacled girl who always jumped on said Inoue stayed calmed, eyes fixed as she coolly explained her point of view, looking at a point in the distance, somewhat near the roof of the school.

"Wasn't he always the cool, distant guy, so careful of his image? So what if he wants to reject himself from the world? If he thinks he is so better than everyone…"

Irises dancing from her passionate pain, Inoue stood up hurriedly, fists clenched to her side.

"Take it back Chizuru, you know nothing!"

All eyes turned on her, more than just a little shaken. Sweet, kind Orihime looked so troubled, so in turmoil inside, like the single fact that HE had been insulted had hit her to the core.

"Kurosaki-kun is not like that! He never was! He just… he just feels rain falling on him even on hot summer days like this…" she finished weakly. She turned her eyes away, toward the sky where the contours of the roof contrasted sharply with the vivid blue azure of heavens.

For once, lunch between the girls was silent, thoughtful and more than a little awkward.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Putting once foot in front of the other was a calm, mechanical, ordinary thing he could focus on. Left, right, left, right… As if nothing else in this world mattered just now. The silent figure of Chad somewhat far, but close enough, shadowed his steps.

That comfortable aura of silence they could share, not saying a word, nor a look, helped calm his thoughts, letting his mind focus on nothing but the pavement, the small bits of gravel that he distinguished on the ground, the occasional debris of garbage that soiled the scenery…

It was about as close as Ichigo came to talk this day. He and Chad shared a lot more in this quiet silence than appearances could ever explain. He had kept an eye on him, discreet and unobtrusive, for a good while now. He knew whatever he had on his mind would come out, sooner or later, and no rush could probably help on such matters.

Inoue's sweet pleas, Tatsuki's threats, Asano's bubbly comments, Ishida's smirking observations… nothing had cut it so far. He would soon come around, somehow, he felt it.

When they neared the Kurosaki household and small clinic, Chad stopped walking, the setting sun highlighting his broad shoulders from behind. Soundlessly, he put a large hand on his friend, his companion's arm, and nodded at his stoic face when Ichigo glanced his way.

Not adding anything, he left; hands in his pockets, while the orange-haired guy entered his home, dodging his dad's kick absentmindedly, ignoring his young sisters' plight to grab a bit, and went up toward his room, vacant eyes registering nothing.

_-----I'll try to make something good, I promise!_


	2. Black

_-----I don't own anything Bleach! Thank you for the 3 reviews, it keeps me up and lively to write this and update so soon!_

Arms behind his head, frown adorning his masculine features, Ichigo never saw the night fall softly over town, or the blight moon rise up in a cloudless sky. Hours kept coming and going, and still he lay there, scowling at the white ceiling like it was hiding secrets from him.

A soft knock on the door failed to drag him his sight toward the entrance of his room, even though he distantly registered the interruption in his flow of thoughts. He blinked, drew his lips in a rigid line and rolled to his side.

"Fine… Be that way."

He could picture Karin, half-closed eyes staring at his door and grumbling, as the echo of her distancing footsteps was lost. After all this, they still tried… He almost smiled at their attention, but restrained himself and sat up.

Ichigo hadn't really lost weight, but something about him felt fragile, as if the tall muscular figure, once steel and flames was made of heated glass. Transparent to the world, seeing nothing and capturing nothing, almost breaking under the soft wind…

A pulsing sensation caught his thoughts this time, as his hand fell to his Death God symbol. Absentminded fingers traced the design, reminding him of…

"No."

The voice was neither cold not compassionate, more like a soulless comment meant to keep his spirit in check. Raising an eye toward the outside through the open window… NO… He looked at the small object again, grasping it hard, and escaped his mortal shell, letting the mass of flesh fall back on his bed like a puppet.

A step toward the glass panes was made, then, he stopped. The curtains blew with the warm summer wind, almost dancing in the darkness. He could picture so much vivid memories, dreams he buried deep inside in an instant as he turned toward the door to the corridor.

His eyes felt distant, his soul was almost like a shadow as he walked with measured pace toward the front of the house. Shinigami garb flowed in his wake, as dark as his mood. Karin eyed him as he passed; missing the fleeting glance his father threw at his son, his face serious and pondering.

In a flash, Isshin continued his antics in front of the television with Yuzu. The commercials rolled on, a break which the young girl took to go grab more soda hurriedly, while the elder Kurosaki watched the moon through the living room's windows.

"Maybe it's time you remember, my son…"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

He coughed blood, his right knee falling to the pavement hard. Black, sticky cloth restricted him, as more fluid fell in tiny rivulets down the sides of his face. His hand came up, throwing red-splattered locks away from his brow, as the other grasped the blade with more strength.

These were the times, the good ones… Only the pain in his wrecked body mattered, only the scraping sounds of metal on bone, just the mindless action. All he lived for…

Ichigo parried the claws with more force than necessary, cutting himself without noticing on the black edge of the creature's tail spike, who rushed to make him trip. The substitute Death god yelled nonsense, not bothering to form words as he simply expressed, driving the point of his weapon in the troublesome appendage, and neatly slicing it.

It was almost a cry from his soul he bellowed, as his amber orbs fell level with the Hollow's deadly red gaze. A slash across his shoulder removed another strip of cloth from his uniform, flowing in the rushing air that surrounded the scene.

Sleeping zanpakuto met blood-crusted nails, again and again. Throwing hits blindly, without care and only pure fury, driven by something unknown, he was surprised to suddenly feel aloft, removed from the face of the earth. A loud crunch echoed through his being when his back hit the concrete wall some thirty feet behind where he last stood.

"I told you it was no use!" Rasped the undead horror, drawing closer. His prey was within his grasp, he could almost taste the rage of his soul when he tried to bring himself up with his dislocated arm and fell on his face, bruising his jaw angrily.

The aura around him changed suddenly, surprising the Hollow when he felt something akin to… one of his own. Madness looked back at him, a fiendish cackle reverberating on the surrounding buildings.

"Useless Ichigo! Useless!!!!!!!" The crazed smile sent toward the monster froze it in place has the mask formed on those broken human features.

"What is this? And here I almost thought you were a blasted shinigami, ah!"

Broken body almost flying, what was once Ichigo jumped on his enemy, hands grasping the edge of its white mask with more force than he could ever have used consciously. He brought his face on his, laughing delightedly when the dark claws raked on his back, trying to dislodge the nuisance.

"You… are… WEAK!" Howled the battered but smirking boy, as he broke the ivory visage in two, laughing all the more, accompanying the last, grief-stricken wail of the dying hollow like a background singer.

Dusty remains rained on the scene, blown away in a matter of seconds by the humid breeze of summer. Like a rag doll thrown away, he fell on the ground, barely breathing, feeling his limbs go numb with pain. No water fell from the sky to quench his wounds, only the pale moon looked down on him, as he stayed, quivering, on the edge of death.

The adrenaline was quickly evaporating, as was the mindless rage that had delighted him a few moments before. Fighting with no emotion was all that drove him on, but already it was over; only leaving the ache, the longing, without the self control which he desperately called to him. The cold, alien feeling of his other self retreated with no parting words, except an emptiness that made him dirty inside. Corrupted, low, hurt, trashed…

All was dark around him, the soft sound the wind made, as it flew through the alley the only background music to his void-like mind. Bleeding like a tranquil river, eyes clamped shut, he replaced his bones with a muffled cry, trembling all over at the receding pain.

The irony of this fight did not escape him; how the dark side of himself was the one most intent on staying alive and kicking. How its passion raged on, how it was all that had saved him from oblivion when he was so alone…

The velvety sky embraced him as his mind fixed on what he really was; like the black of night, like the hole in an hollow's chest, like the frost that he felt in his wounds despite the heat. Tasting his blood on the tip of his tongue, he bit down on his lower lip as he choked a sob, then all strength left him.

The cold cage that grasped him clamped his heart more forcefully with icy claws, and Ichigo wept his soul out in with a strangling throat.

_-----That was dark, eh?_


	3. Blood

_-----Thank you again for the support!_

Tears fell, dotting the pavement like twinkling stars under the moonlight, leaving ash-touched roads on his sooty cheeks, making his eyes burn. The heartache wasn't going away, each breath bringing more blood to ooze from his wounds, more pain in his soul that he did not know how to express.

His fists clenched, relaxed and clenched again, knuckles bruising severely as he hit the ground, multiple times, accompanying the sobs like a war drum. His hollow was right; he was weak, unable to cope, guilty to the point of breaking down like this.

"Why… why…" He managed to choke out, biting his tongue in shame, the metallic taste so cold in his mouth.

He knew too well why, couldn't admit it to himself, would simply not. Yet, frenzied with sadness and confusion, Ichigo saw the answer, all too clear, that he did not want to come out from his conscience.

Never a defeatist guy, always taking things in stride, with detachment and a clear mind, he was this time confronted with his own reflection in his heart, pointing him with an accusing finger. He had come to cope with the fact that he was not the real cause of his mother's death, but on this particular matter, he had no choice but no admit he had caused his own downfall.

There lied the pain, and also the remorse, knowing all too well he had caused her to leave, had said things he did not really mean… And realised much too late what kind of impact his rudeness could have on those he cared most about.

The throbbing grip on his heart let go slowly, as his eyes dried and the muscles of his battered form relaxed, spent at the limit with this emotional wreckage. The clear, glass-sharp ache inside quieted down, leaving some sort of disconnection from reality he could not exactly pinpoint. The frown left his gory features, when, tired, weary to the bone, he let himself fall to his side, his eyes watching the sky but registering little. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, locked themselves on the contrasted night.

How this scene reminded him of her! Pale light on dark canvas, purple haze permeating the area like the irises of her serious stare, stars akin to the passion flaming from her very being. A somnolent sigh escaped his parched lips, his right hand twitching as if wanting to soar toward her.

A stream of memories surged his mind at this instant, as he was reminded of closing doors, tall shadows, her harsh words and sad glance when he had lain in a pool of his own blood, watching her go. Except this time, he was alone, lonely, and so very weary… Ichigo closed his eyes, murmuring, for once, no frown marring his face as it usually did.

"Ru…kia."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Soft steps reverberated in the alley, a tall figure approaching the fallen spirit on the floor, knowing all too well where it bathed in moonlight. Tantalising smoke raised to the skies, as he took a puff from his cigarette and blew it softly, shaking his head.

"You want everyone to believe so much you're not a kid anymore, but still end up like this…"

Strong hands deftly explored the deadly wounds, casting dancing shadows across the chalky white skin of the substitute shinigami. With care, he parted the slashed strips of sticky cloth from the tattered form, silencing a defeated sigh with infinite patience.

"As much as I wish I could help, you're always intent on refusing to face yourself. I guess it had to come to this after all… Still, you ought to take care of your own self more, Ichigo."

His fingers slid under the mellow limbs, turning the boy on his back completely, careful not to slam the bobbing head on the ground. Dark eyes rose to the luminous sky, he threw the smoke to a corner of the alley with a pinch of his index and proceeded to load his arms with the tall and heavy bundle of cold flesh.

"I know, I did say I quit smoking, guess I'm too tense these days, thinking of her too often."

Talking to him felt good, as if it could make the silence more bearable, the lack of life too oppressing even as he cradled the boy to his chest. It all felt so wrong somehow, to be here, now, doing this, yet, he knew his place was to let him do his own mistakes, so he would grow. Nonetheless, this never meant it would be easy, even as a bystander, a watcher, one who saw but dared not speak.

"You've grown, boy…" he blurted out, somehow finding it hard to drag him along. "This might take a while. I do hope whatever you're dreaming off is good though, wouldn't want you to stir too much right now."

And so he made his way, street by street, slowly but surely, toward home.


	4. Blossom

_----- Another update. Italics signal inner thoughts._

He saw her, garbed in a violet kimono with delicate silver butterfly patterns, standing at him in the setting rays of the golden sun. The wind gently picked up her silky locks and made them dance in duo with the light of her tender eyes. Pink lips came apart, moving to form words he remembered clearly, yet could not hear at this very moment.

The boy clenched a fist lightly, knowing the storm of feelings he felt at the news was too complicated to sort out just now. For a rare time in the last years, he smiled warmly, albeit lightly, barely nodding. He would leave soon, and she would remain here, so was her wish. But why did his fingers twitch?

_The last days were too much; you're tired that's all._

Ichigo exhaled his breath, feeling overwhelmed, thankful, relieved, and warm inside. The sunset was beautiful, and she lived, she was safe, he had finally proved he could protect those he cared most about. This confidence filled him with serenity.

Now, in this single moment, he felt sure of himself, at peace with this strange world called Soul Society and devoid of the tense grasp the enemies who left to Hueco Mundo had oozed in everyone's heart mere hours ago. No frown marring his features, a pleasant sigh escaped his lips as if it was the most normal thing to do.

He would see her again, he could feel it inside, as sure as the day and night would succeed each other with no reprieve. Even though Ichigo hadn't left yet, he was already looking forward to meeting her a second time all over again, perhaps with less dire circumstances than their initial introduction?

This single thought almost made him chuckle, but he simply walked forward, the sense of closure on this whole chain of incidents now a definite certainty.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ichigo tossed in his pain-filled sleep, brows creased, moaning incomprehensible words as the memories flowed again. Sighing at the spectacle, his watcher let a sigh escape his lips, patting the single intact shoulder with a sure hand. Decided, he left the room and headed to the unlighted living room, signalling a number on the phone.

"Hi, it's me… Yes, yes I know you know."

There was silence for a moment.

"Listen, I think he… Yeah, you're right. I'm coming."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Just as the blade hissed, coming in contact with the foul magicks of the ghoulish apparition, smoke filled the air like a clinging, black mist. Choking on the smell, the shinigami backed a few steps, narrowing his eyes to see his enemy and where he would attack from.

His senses tingled when he felt another reiatsu enter the fray, somewhat familiar to him. But the last time he remembered feeling that presence, it had been…

« Sode no Shirayuki! Dance! »

He felt the cold air in his very eyes, as he opened them wide when the rush of freezing wind caught with him, battering the dark cloth around him furiously. Blinking back tears from the frosty bite the attack had left, he covered his face with one upraised arm, looking away from the white flash that illuminated the fog all around the park. His chest felt painful as his heart pumped so much as to make him light-headed, his knees like water against his will. Nervousness, excitement?

_What happened just now?_

A low-pitched below echoed in waves just as the cloudy air cleared itself of smoke and ash with lazy breaths of wind. Somewhere, in front yet not close enough, stood a figure, a small, dark-clad, slim figure, holding a white blade with a decided pose, not quite facing him. Ichigo passed a timid tongue tip on his parched lips, shaking, and his face the perfect expression of shock. Shiny ebony hair slid over her face in the form of a rebel strand, accenting the shadow that clouded her eyelids. They opened, purple orbs staring right into his golden ones, piercing the night like a moonbeam.

"Long time no see… Ichigo."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Grasping the cover as he shivered, he shook his head with quick jerks. He turned to one side, hissed and returned on his back as his body reacted to the pain in his torn chest and arm. Sweat started to pour from his skin, as his dreams started to take a bad turn toward painful memories.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The moon was bright and comforting, even though they didn't need its embrace to feel at peace with the world just now. The two figures, black cloth on indigo sky, shared a silent moment from his rooftop. They were meeting all over again, like they did every night since last month.

It had shaken his friends, to see him so open, almost… friendly these days. He didn't frown as much as he used to, at least, not as aggressively concentrated as before. His eyes held onto a new light, as if the student had found a purpose lighter than the one which usually filled his nights with gore and ghosts.

Almost touching, they sat, side by side, staring at the starry sky with not a care in the world.

"I went to see Yuzu's school play tonight, you should have come." He had said that right out of the blue, not thinking about it, feeling like saying something right now.

"I bet your sister did a good performance, your father must have been proud, was he not?"

"Yeah, if you can call his frantic catcalls at the end an encouragement! What a disgrace to have such an old man…"

She had chuckled at that comment, a laugh that filled him with warmth. Light banter like this was new, unexpected. He smiled inwardly, happy for no specific reason, simply glad he was not alone right now. On a whim, he clasped a hand on her left shoulder and hugged her to him, his nose touching her hair, eyes still open and looking in the distance.

"I'm glad you came back."

_I'm glad you're alive. _

He didn't see her expression, but from the silence that lasted, he guessed she was surprised, lacking words perhaps. Maybe it took seconds, or minutes, an hour, he didn't know, but she put her small right hand on her shoulder, over his, squeezing it, and murmured.

"I'm glad I did."

He remembered staying like this a long while, couldn't recall exactly when he went inside, nor if they exchanged more words afterward. One vivid image was engraved in his mind though: the sight of her half-closed purple eyes, looking at him, as he encircled her frame with one arm. He had felt her head resting on his right shoulder while they laid on his still-made bed, curtains dancing in the wind, falling asleep in shared silence. Ichigo remembered awakening somewhat later and caressing her hair, smiling, and closed his eyes again.

When morning came, he woke up alone and everything crashed down.

_-----Might not think it, but this whole idea of a story is hard to write!_


	5. Blunt

_----- Updating for my loyal readers. Enjoy and review, your comments and suggestions are appreciated!_

He heaved violently, grasping the sides of his face with white knuckles and wiry hands, shaking like a leaf in a violent storm. Somehow, he couldn't see straight, couldn't distinguish anything in the blur of gray that his eyes captured.

"Go away, RUN!"

"But…"

He screamed, so loud he thought the windows around the area would burst from the sonic wave he could picture. Blood gushed from the punctures his nails were making on the contours of his head, his breath came out in short, nervous puffs. Why couldn't she understand?

"Rukia!" It was a cry from the heart, born of panic.

_I…_

In an instant, she was by his side, aiming to cradle his body in her hands, eyes mirroring painful concern, confusion. Violet orbs widened at the sight of ivory bone forming on his sweat-drenched features, as he clawed at his face enough to draw red, gushing wounds, trying to keep it from forming.

"Ichigo, breathe! Focus, look at me!" Fear laced the shaky words.

Against himself, he backhanded her with full force, raising his face toward the sky as he shouted against his uncontrollable transformation. The lithe body of the shinigami fell on the floor with a sickening sound as it hit the cement, zanpakuto flying out of her range like a twinkling star.

Dismayed, she looked at him, raising a pale face; her brow was cut and bloodying part of her cheek rapidly, her left arm had an impossible angle. Nonetheless, she came back to her feet as quick as a cat and ran toward him, fingers outstretched. But what could she do?

The mask was almost completely formed, amber eyes quickly replaced with the telltale black, cruel stare. That terrifying gaze locked on her, hands clenching on the dark soul sword he called to his hand with pure force of will. Silence fell with leaden drapes as she contemplated the scene, unable to move anymore.

A harsh light pierced the night, striking what was once Ichigo with deadly intent. Again and again, beams of blue-white struck, and Rukia could do nothing but remain, jaw open and shock playing on her bruised face, rooted in place like time had stopped.

Sanity seemed to creep back, and he looked at Ishida with decided eyes.

"Don't hold back. Please."

It was all it took for the Quincy to aim true and stab his chest at the exact right spot with another soul-laced arrow. The substitute Death God fell back, pinned to the wall like a butterfly, sighed as his chin fell to his torso. White bone disintegrated, but the promise of frenzy remained.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

He could picture the scene with vivid accuracy, but the words failed to come back to memory. Perhaps he did not want to remember what he did say to her, since the very sound of his voice back then had all but shattered what little sanity remained. That, and the look of pure pain she had thrown his way before departing for good.

Ichigo recalled the rain outside as he felt her presence creep further away, as far as she could, as she fled the horror he was, the weakness that inhabited him. Cold water rushed to him, and yet it could not freeze him, not more than his iced up heart just did. He could still remember the gray clouds, the humidity, and the oppression that he had felt downing on him once he could not feel her anymore. They had exchanged so little in the way of words, yet so much in matters of heart…

_Keep away, stay safe… Rukia_

His lower lip trembled, his eyes itched, yet he took another pace. Surely this would all go away soon, right?

_Right?_

She was everything and then more. He had sworn to save her life, to protect her.

_How can I protect you from me except by keeping you far from arm's reach?_

He had to be strong, and endure, for her.

_Rukia… be well, and safe. Live happily where you should, in Soul Society. Be the flower you are, and smile. _

He longer knew if it was raining or not, but water drenched his face nonetheless as he walked back home.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Kurosaki residence, sometimes during the night**

His eyes did not register where he was right away. It looked like a white ceiling, and… his desk? He blinked, several times, groaning at the pain in his ribs, and then looked at his hand. His body was intact, yet…

_Wait a minute…_

How had he come back into his own flesh when his spirit had been almost slain back there? Was he really alive?

"What in the…"

His mind juggled with the information, yet he could not come up with any plausible answer. Shame crept up in his heart when he recalled, albeit with trouble, what had transpired this very night.

_I'm weak, a coward… _

For weeks, it had only gotten worse. At first, he thought he could learn to tame the darkness inside, with nothing to trouble it, nobody nearby he could harm.

_It was supposed to be easier, safer, for everyone, for her…_

But the hollow stirred inside, boiling to get out, each day more agony for the soul. And each new sunrise, he missed her.

_----- I will get somewhere with this, no worries._


	6. Blindfold

_----- Thank you again for the support, I really do appreciate!_

She bathed her smooth visage with cold water, calm and demure, keeping her manners and cool demeanour around her like an ever-present shield against the world. Short hair pulled back, eyes focused; she watched her own reflection and steadied her gaze, making her face the perfect expression of resolution.

Her hand went to the hilt of her zanpakuto, caressing it to reassure herself she was doing the right thing, the good thing, what she was meant to do.

_I am a shinigami._

Violet orbs danced with unshed tears, brilliant salty drops she repressed by blinking a few times. She had to keep focused.

_I am a goddess of death, meant to kill hollows._

She was dead. No, she was Death, and her place was in Soul Society, with her peers, her surrogate family, the Kuchiki household, her squad.

_My blade and speed is all I ever was. I am a warrior._

Why couldn't she freeze her own heart and stop thinking? Every flicker of a candle, even the golden rays of the sun reminded her, when at this very moment she had to feel nothing.

_I am a Kuchiki, a noble, a member of the elite._

Her lips formed a thin, expressionless line in the ivory sheen of her beauty, replacing pain with blankness. Heartbeats slowed progressively, and she could get away from the basin and look at the setting sun with no regret.

_Fighting for innocent souls is all the honour I'll ever need._

Arms fell to her side with grace. Her whole body turned toward the open door, each step full of intent and stubbornness like only Rukia could muster. She thought back on her brother's look and regal nobility, like a cloak that billowed in his wake, trying to grasp some of that aura to her.

_I will make him proud. He is all I have._

The night fell fully by the time she made her way to the appointed area. Somewhere afar stood a gate toward the hell of souls, her destination, a landscape of pledge toward herself.

Putting once foot in front of the other was a calm, mechanical, ordinary thing she could focus on. Left, right, left, right… As if nothing else in this world mattered just now. The silent figure of Renji somewhat far, but close enough, shadowed her steps.

"Are you sure about this Rukia? Nobody will think less of you if you back out you know… In fact, you know I'd prefer it if you…"

It was a simple, definite answer.

"No."

"But, Rukia!"

He was cut short by the cold stare she threw over her shoulder.

"A Kuchiki never goes back on her word."

Nervous, Renji scratched at his hair with a shaky hand, not sure what to say. Nothing so far had made her back out of this. Treats, promises, warnings, glares, angry words, hateful chirping, not a single thing that he could always use to coerce her to agree to his views had done a dent in her armour.

She continued on her path, walking in the dark, toward part certain oblivion, part total despair. This mission had been something the whole of Gotei 13 feared to pull out, yet had no choice to. The gloomy influence of Hueco Mundo grew worse each day for the mortals of Earth, yet even slaying their ghoulish envoys did little to lessen the number of attacks.

Weeks had passed in serious thinking, considerate planning, and the results had been simple; send a spy in the world of the Hollows to gather information on what went on in their black side of the universe, get a feel for their thirst and perhaps a solution to this whole mess.

The red-haired shinigami grabbed her arm, eyes shining with pure pleading, desperate longing and fear in their depths. Surely she could not…

"Hell, why are you doing this? Why did you even volunteer in the first place?"

"I have a mission to accomplish. I am a shinigami, an emissary of Death, a slayer of evil spirits, and so are you. This is our goal, all we aim for. A test of strength and resolve is all this assignment is, and I will succeed."

He couldn't believe his own ears. She had been weakened, almost reduced to the sorry state of a mortal being mere months ago. She was strong, but no captain of a division, nor even an officer or a second in command. Heck, by Soul Society standards, she was still very young. What she lacked in experience, she surely made up in wits, but that alone would never be enough for a task such as this!

Panicked, he ran after her to catch up, his breath rasped and frightful. This was his dear friend, his companion, the one who made him smile and laugh, yet always kept him on his toes. This little wisp of a girl, despite her aggressive behaviour, was still only just Rukia. His friend had lost the spark that made her whole, and had the guts to jump in the first line…

"Ru… Rukia! Listen to me! You don't stand a chance! I don't care about your noble honour; you're going to die if you go in there!"

"Don't you understand I don't CARE?!" She shouted back angrily, irritated at his words, the reminder it brought up, her own feebleness.

Shrouded in twilight, a figure made its way toward them, still hidden, but the soft sound of sandaled feet more than enough evidence of its arrival.

"I beg to differ. You, in fact, care perhaps too much."

Her brows furrowed at the interruption, and both her and her lifelong childhood friend turned toward the intruder in their private tirade. The darkness parted, illuminating the strong features, vivid eyes and stubble-covered chin of a man she could clearly recall as being much less serious than this.

"What are---?"

He moved so fast she never even saw his first stride, but she could clearly discern when he put his two large hands on her shoulders. His dark, direct gaze locked right into her eyes and held them in place more than his warm grip ever could.

"You, young lady, are not going to the right gate."

Somewhere behind him in the dark, a cat purred.

_----- Good, bad? You decide._


	7. Bottom

_----- Seems most people could not guess who the man was at the end of the last chapter. Could you?_

She watched its wings flutter, like fallen, silent feathers from a crow's flight. No sound broke the haze that tore at her sight when she stepped through, reminded of a similar trek, one she had done with pride and anticipation so many months ago. Before her brother took her back to Soul Society, before the angst-filled days that preceded her planned execution, before he had shown up, tall and defiant, to stand like a sun god while death raced toward her in the form of a phoenix in flight… Before…

_Before I realised how much my heart could bleed._

This personal assumption was accompanied by a soft stroke from his warm hand on her shoulder. He had not removed it since he came for her. Strangely enough, despite the shock, the lack of understanding, the numb brain at the sight of it all, she did not fight back nor quip a word.

_If it came to something like this, it's more than serious._

Traveling through the gate felt like eternity. So many questions plagued her mind, so much fear embraced her at the possibility that… And what if…

He flashed her a resolved, timid smile, not saying a word, his eyes doing all the talk for him. Somehow, she was reminded of the soft, kind looks from her captain.

_I wish I had known what such a presence could bring to a child, back then._

Flash memories of her childhood, lonely and challenging, brought conflicted emotions to her. Like so many reminders, she locked them below; now was not a time to recall neither pain nor happiness. This moment was a time to be silent and careful, to be calm and detached, and to be ready for what was to come. For surely this might take all her resolve to steady herself, to keep her soul from bursting at the seams.

_I must be strong._

The light halted, lowering in intensity, opening a whole new sight to her. Far below, streetlights pierced the twilight like drowsy fireflies. Houses and buildings painted the landscape with patches of full colors, hazed by the darkness. As the hell butterfly flew softly and caressed her cheek with a kiss from its velvety wings, she sighed, founding the view beautiful, lively, despite its silence.

Rukia stood in midair, breathing in the musky, humid air of summer night. He let himself fall on top of a lamppost, looked back toward her and held a hand aloft, reaching to her. His eyes betrayed resolute trust, as if he knew what choice she would make, what decision she had already taken, despite herself, against the void of emotions, toward the suffering she would experience. His look gave her confidence, knowing, somehow, that he knew all she felt and more.

Soft fingers met his callused ones with a firm grasp, and she followed Isshin in the darkness of the city in rapid steps.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Perched in the window's frame, stripped hat shrouding his eyes in darkness, he tapped on his cane with one finger. Deep inside, he found the whole scene dramatic and heart wrenching, which his straight face did not betray. His sight analysed, memorised with precise accuracy, and, despite the odds against them, mindful of the urgency yet careful of her reactions, he left him do the talking.

_Ah the good old days! He always liked to talk._

Said subject of his thoughts kept a firm hand on each of her shoulders, while she cradled one of the boy's with shaking twitches, taken aback and stunned.

"He's been like this ever since I found him, and it's getting worse. I could somewhat heal him, but there ain't much I can do about _that, _against all my wishes."

His voice seemed to come from far away to Rukia's ears. Everything looked surreal. His still, grey-tinged skin moist with nervous sweat, the ivory bits gathering as slowly as sand falling in time's hourglass on his frowning face, the cold feel of his scrapped fingers on hers…

_How did it come to this?_

She wanted to run, to cry, to shout, scream, tear her hair out, fall comatose, explode… And yet she laid still, not moving a muscle, the light in her eyes dancing in the tears that did not fall, only glittered, more evidence to her pain than a crazy tantrum could ever be.

She raised her face toward the dark, serious shinigami who had brought her here, a questioning look directed to him. He held her gaze as the cane-wielding Urahara took it from there.

"He is unable to fight it. At least, not in his present state… You see, this had always been present in him, in a more direct form than in most people's heart, but there was still a darkness lurking. He's always been able to keep it in check, even in most of his weak moments, because he drew strength and power from what surrounded him. But now…"

He blinked, his face deep and serene, his eyes piercing her own soul.

"He's always been proud and defiant, imposing, but hiding what hurt him the most. But not all battles are meant to be fought alone; loneliness and grief leave scars deeper than fatal wounds. He isolated this dent in himself, thinking that perhaps it was best if he could come to cope with it on his own. And it came to this."

Her brows furrowed, angrily. How stupid of him, how could he? He was not this kind of man, he was a fighter, he was not alone, and anyone could have helped him! If only he had talked… But Ichigo was never one to lay his heart and fears bare, never the one who wanted to be taken for a weakling in the eyes of others…

_But I let my pain drive me away when he wished exactly for me to leave, and I never saw through his ploy…_

Rukia felt ashamed. Her own pride had caused this, just as her own weakness had caused her to make him fight in her place since the very beginning. And now he lay here, on his dying bed, torn between life and eternal damnation, all because of her. HER!

"You were never the cause of this, Rukia Kuchiki."

The simple yet direct words, spoken by Isshin, shook her to the core. The petite woman felt meaningless under his scrutiny, as he yet held her by the arms, the strength of his grip unwavering.

"I'm not asking you to pay debts, nor to die for him. You did more for him than you perhaps ever realised, and, despite how he currently is, I know it was his dearest wish that you came to him, one last time."

This time, tears did fall, a furious shower of pain and sorrow. He could not die, not now, not like this! Surely…

"NO! Tell me how! Tell me!"

Urahara turned eyes sharp as needles toward the prone body, then back at her. Not a knowing grin showed on his face, yet it was evident to her, after all this time, that he already had a trumpet card up his sleeve. He jumped inside the boy's room; cane held on his shoulder, fan tucked in the other hand. With a deft jab, he jabbed the wounded shinigami substitute with the point of his weapon, bearing a skull crest.

The soul was abruptly catapulted from the body, floating mere inches from its own flesh, over the bed like a bad movie apparition. The teen's spirit groaned, clutching its head and panting, clawing at the half-formed mask like a madman, oblivious to what had just transpired.

The sight of him, desperate and distraught like a trapped animal, tore at her heart. She heard the sound of the zanpakuto coming free of its linen strap, heard the clicking sound of its blade helf aloft, and her eyes crossed Urahara's over Zangetsu's sharp tip.

"The only way to help him is to join him."

_---- Please comment!_


	8. Wyvern's midstory rambling

Hi everyone!

No, sadly, this is not a second chapter on the same night, as I just released chapter 7 :P Gotta do something else tonight too eh? In all seriousness, I'm taking this little section to post a personal message for everyone that reviewed my story so far, and to detail a few things I've been asked about.

But, no worries, the other chapters will continue to come up and posted just as fast as the others. So far, I've posted one for every night of the week (except weekends, but then again I'm not home then) since I started this, so I figure it's good for you guys.

Now, on with the reviewers!

I wish a big, bottom-of-my-heart thanks to the following reviewers, your words keep me going and writing since the very beginning!

**HitsugayaAngel**

**Jazzjackrabbit**

**TruthSeekerRukia**

**Karenkate-kitty**

**Nanakonohime**

**Mipku**

On another note, some people asked me questions as to WHO it was at the end of Chapter 6 that came for Rukia. The answer lies behind us now, but I must admit I laughed out loud at the suspense it has caused! And no worries, I haven't forgotten Yoruichi in oblivion by excluding her from chapter 7, she will be there later.

I must admit that although I did read the manga into the Arrancar arc, I didn't want to use that part of the story for my little writing debut. I felt as if these named baddies were cool, yet unnecessary for something like what I'm writing. I took a few elements in perspective, thought of a sad yet touchy way to make an Ichigo+Rukia tale, and that's how it all began.

For those who asked, yes, I know some phrasing might come out weird. I'm not a native English person; it's a second language, so there might be some wrong syntax in there. There's also the fact that Word autocorrects what I write (and it comes out so fast on the keyboard that it's really a blessing, hence why I keep the feature on!), so the software tends to think I meant a word when it's another. From what I was told, seems the few mistakes in there came from stupid Microsoft AI correction tool.

All in all, I hope this whole story does not come out as something wildly far-fetched and bad, and I wish you read it all until its end. Thank you for the support, and review!

The Wyvern


	9. Birth

_----- And it goes on, yet again!_

He faced a pale, pure bone-white version of himself, in a shattered, upturned world that was undeniably his own spirit haven. He'd seen this place before a few times, had spoken words while standing on a building's rising side, had seen the dark, floating shade of his own weapon watch him… Yet, it was now quite different from what he remembered.

For once, the landscape only encompassed shattered skyscrapers, rubble-filled streets, a sky shaken with lightning and no sun in view. There was also the slight problem of his countless cuts on every part of his body, and the smirking, cruel face of his tormentor.

All this talk of king and horse hung loose in a part of his mind, and despite the time that had passed, fighting, he was still losing. Always before, he had gotten his ass handed on a silver platter his way, then turned the tables on his opponent and got the strength to get the upper hand in a victory blow, but now…

_I can't go on like this, I'm losing…_

Ichigo panted, face first on the glass panes that served as the floor, smudging the blood from his wounds all over the shiny surface. The grey tinge of everything around him was splotched with drops of crimson, creating a surreal and vivid reminder that his body surely could not contain tons of the water of life. Yet, he still breathed, thinking for a second how silly it was to gasp for air when he was not in the _real_ world.

"Poor you, if only you saw yourself right now, _Ichigo_."

The mere sight of that grin on his wicked face made the black-clothed boy want to punch him until his head burst, but he knew that if he had failed to do so before, he surely wouldn't succeed now.

"Don't have enough will left to even reply eh? What a shame, really… I always knew you were weak."

His dark side shook with laughter, breaking the silence of his mind with deep chuckles. His posture breathed confidence, resolve, and most importantly; power. The hollow held the black-bladed Zangetsu with a deft hand, complete trust that he would continue to be the only one wielding it.

"S…shut up, freak…"

The words escaped his lips barely, almost a whisper, yet the white version of himself had probably heard, since he lifted his lips in an amused smile.

"So, still chirping? I'm getting tired of toying with you. Time for you to take the backseat, _permanently_!"

He stepped rapidly toward him, but not fast enough that Ichigo lost sight of his would-be killer. He glared, knowing his battered and unarmed body stood no chance to deflect what was to come, yet still looked death full in the face at it rushed to rip his head off.

"Goodbye, loser!"

Ichigo saw his own sword move, so slowly his thought time had stopped, toward his neck in a downward slashing motion. As he lost sight of the blade's edge to his left, where he couldn't see from his position, his mind went blank and he exhaled.

_It's over._

The blow never connected. He gazed up to his reflection, but was blocked by a rush of dark cloth and a whooshing sound, then a definite clicking when his mean of execution blocked on an obstacle.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

She strained herself against his strength, then gave a push his way and threw him back forcefully. He almost glided through the air, landing a dozen feet away, irritation clearly evident in his features.

"My, my… what is this?"

He wasn't amused anymore, that much was certain.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

He blinked and coughed, his neck strained to look him. Maybe the loss of blood was making him hallucinate.

"What…?"

She glanced his way, her demeanour serious, her face grave. Yet, this very moment, she was breathtaking to him. No matter if she was real or not, he didn't care.

"Get up, NOW."

Somehow, he could not resist her commanding attitude, and fought against his battered body to get back on his feet. Frowning, still shaking with weakness, he eyed her with a spark he didn't have a few moments before.

"You… are not… supposed to be here."

The hollow chose this moment to run at her, intent on fighting this unwanted apparition and get rid of it. This was his triumph and he didn't really feel like waiting to grasp the crown that danced right in front of him. Blocking a rapid serie of strokes with equal zeal, she yelled.

"You objections are refused; I care not about what you might want to say. I'm here to save you, so make this worthwhile!"

The white edge flew toward its ivory target, missing him by a pace, but still pushing him back.

"So now the weakling needs backup to fight for him? How delighting! I'll rip you to shreds while he stands there bleeding to death!"

This was so… weird to him. Here she was, dodging a monster's furious assault, while he stood there, able to see, unable to act, as if he was paralysed. Another first meeting, on a different stage, but with the same circumstances, all over again.

Ice and black met on the battlefield, dancing like cats around each other, trading screeching hits but never touching each other. He played, that much Ichigo could see, but she was seriously intent on doing this, _again_.

_Why did you push yourself in its way back then, why are you still doing it?_

The hollow that had rampaged his house superposed itself on his dark side made whole, and his eyes grew wide. His heart throbbed, and then sank as his own sword trusted in Rukia's path, grazing her arm and spilling her blood on the reflective glass. Sheer adrenaline pushed him forward as he shadow stepped forward, toward him, and put a hand on the intricate hilt, stopping the second blow that was in the work.

"That's mine."

Golden eyes crossed his mirror image's, direct and unforgiving. His white twin's response was quick and just as blunt.

"Then gorge yourself on it…"

The razor-sharp weapon pierced through his shoulder with a sickening, sloshing sound, coming out from his torn back.

"…and die with it!"

The hollow exulted, still holding the blade and smiling like a feral beast out of a nightmare. His face quickly turned to surprise when, as he attempted to take out Zangetsu from its bloody sheet, Ichigo's hand grasped it again. He fought to take the sword back, but somehow, his weak, bloody clone was stronger than him!

The orange-haired boy, battered, wounded beyond measure, stood his ground and never looked away from his double's eyes.

About to retort something, the white shade choked and gasped, looking down where something appeared in front of him that wasn't there before. His irises crossed those of Ichigo in shock, as if he couldn't understand what had just happened.

The colourless blade sliced out from his back, grating on his very substance, with an excruciatingly slow grace. No grin was left, only regret painted the phantom's traits as his flickered and disintegrated in motes of light, into nothingness. Rukia looked up, violet orbs vivid as nothing else in this grey world.

His breath finally came out while he unsheathed his zanpakuto from his own body, painting the glass scarlet. Rubies fell on the ground all around, priceless little gems poured from realisation, freedom, finality, release and death.

"I…"

His eyes fell on the sword, his companion, the sky, and then turned inward as he collapsed.


	10. Brush

_----- Hope you like this one!_

Her hands were sure, moving with infinite elegance and a touch as light as raindrops on one's skin during autumn showers. Manoeuvring with care, she delicately placed his limbs in a more comfortable position than they were, then torn part of her right sleeve from her attire. Fingers dancing like kisses, she wiped the blood from his face in slow motion, cleaning ever so unhurriedly the cuts and bruises that messed the color of his air, that tore at her memories.

Ichigo was the sun made flesh, a golden beacon in a world of greys, a spark of flame that ignited everything it touched. Even now, despite his stillness, the ashen tinge of his cheeks and the amber of his eyes stolen from her sight by fair lashes, she felt herself blaze from her very depths.

"This is not the man I remember."

Her fingertips traced his brows, now relaxed and neatly arched, promising ample expression. They trailed the outline of his jaw, brushed his slightly parted lips, went up the ridge of his nose, danced near the closed lids, and then swept to his fiery curls, burying themselves in the spiky, unkempt hair, caressing them.

"It's not right for you to sleep so."

The intense violet orbs, always full of life, blurred and hid a fraction of a second while Rukia blinked. They woke again, mesmerised at the sight of him so close to her, his head resting near her lap, and then brimmed with tears.

"Did I kill the one I cared most about yet again? Did I fail, again?"

The mere fact of stating these words out loud brought a lump in her throat, choked her heart with rusted, iron claws. Was she fated to bring only death to this world? Was this the true reality of her purpose? Perhaps this whole business was only an excuse to drown oneself in battle; a false principle with a hidden goal, a quest for power laced with pretty words like protect, save, defend.

Memories of these instants, so many years ago, when she held the bloody, fatally wounded corpse of Kaien in her arms, were violently brought back to her. The guilt of that moment had never left her; she would forever blame herself for taking his life, no matter if he had told her that her acts had freed him for the hollow's grasp. Her sword, words or thoughts always killed those she held dear in her heart, always chastised her for simply feeling.

"I could not protect you from myself…"

Defeated, he let her head hang lower, her chin resting closer to her chest, her hands stopping their motion in his warm, bloodied locks. Her tears fell like shooting stars, too long kept inside, wetting his lips, bringing a taste of salt to his mouth.

"I should have… I…"

She buried her pale visage in shaky hands, crying her heart out in sheer depress over all of it. Shiny drops raced down her unclothed arm, down her neck, quenching her skin like a sweet balm, yet never bringing peace.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Yoruichi glanced toward her companion from her perch in the window's frame, feral eyes shining in the dark room. Urahara, face half-hidden by his headwear, returned the gaze with silence, and then turned toward Isshin, who simply looked up at the stars, his expression unreadable.

"Did he…?"

Her soft voice seemed to carry far into the night, echoing on the walls of the small, simple room, easing the atmosphere with its life. The exiled captain looked back toward the boy's bed, taking in the spectacle of his statue-like body and the female spirit, entangled and bloody.

"Yes…"

_----- Next update coming soon ;)_


	11. Bliss

_----- Quick update, because I feel bad leaving the story like this! Lol :P_

It felt like molten lead was burning behind his eyelids, yet he had to fight hard with himself to pry them open. Everything was hazy, devoid of shape and color, only vague spots of black or white whirled in his vision.

_Where…_

Something hot and wet made him jump. He tried to raise a hand to his face to brush it away, but could not move a muscle. He felt frozen, out of place, somehow a simple bystander to his own existence. His mind had trouble focusing; everything was parched and stingy to his senses, like spiders crawling over every inch of his skin.

Bone tired, he found the strength to swallow, trying to clear his throat. He tasted something akin to the sea on his tongue, and wet his cracked, ablaze lips to soothe the feel.

_What is…_

He breathed deeply, fixing a point in nowhere as the stars in his gaze flicked out, until he could see again, albeit with narrowed eyes against the light. It hurt like hell, yet he forced himself to keep his orbs open and aware, fighting against the arms of the goddess of dreams for a little more time of consciousness.

_Cold…_

He felt frozen inside, shivering, but not to the point of clacking his teeth together. He needed heat, warmth.

_Need…_

He saw her. A fallen deity. A vision of sorrow. His goddess of death. Torn cloth hanged from her shoulder like a broken wing.

_Rukia…_

His thoughts reeled in, unable to go on. He exhaled, registering the thought that he had been holding his breath for a long moment. Yet, he wanted that moment to last, again, now, forever.

She wept her face away from him, the cascade of dark silk mingling with the white of her hands. He saw prickles of light fall toward him, so close to his bloodshot eyes, soaking small spots of his skin like snowflakes. He did not remember seeing her like this, hearing such quiet yet sorrow-filled sobs, feeling such sorrow coming from her.

"Don't…"

His voice was barely a whisper, creaking like a door held closed for too long, so weak to his ears. She didn't look at him.

"Hmm…Rmn.."

She couldn't hear, the cries from her mind shielding her hearing against his attempts to speak to her, make her turn to him, see her…

Ichigo sighed softly, his lungs devoid of air. He crooked his fingers, straining himself to make his body respond, wanting to lift his arm, and needing to touch. Weakly, he brought a rough, battered hand to hers, amiss the pool of throbbing ebony mane. His index grazed her knuckles softly, barely moving, feeling the slightest scratch there with intense, tactile scrutiny.

He closed his eyes, too worn out and aching to keep them open. His arm did not fall when he felt the shoulder slack, as a small, warm clutch embraced his upraised fingers with disbelief. He felt her tremble slightly, and then relax. He inhaled, the smell of blood omnipresent, yet layered with a feeling of peace underneath. It had been shed, and all was quiet.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

She marvelled at the feeling of his skin on hers, despite its cold temperature and pale complexion. Holding his hand to her cheek, she cried silently, too content to shatter the calm that bathed then both.

Her fingers traveled the tendons beneath the flesh, tracing to his wrist, revealing in the pulse, weak but steady, that she felt there. Rukia held the warming limb to her, face still cupped in it, while trailing with the other hand up to the base of his neck, then his jaw.

_He is…_

She had to reassure herself he really was there; her mere eyes were not enough to make it real. With tenderness, she caressed his features with fingertips, and then brought them near his mouth where her tears lingered, shining crystals reminiscent of her earlier fears.

Wishing to wipe them out, to erase the tangible memory itself, she aimed to it and felt his breath, hot, catch her. As her fingers connected with the dampness, he kissed them, eyes still closed, and lips like fire to her core. He weakly brought his free hand to hold hers, similar to the way she held his, and opened the golden stars of his orbs to meet her twilight gaze.

_Alive._

Wordlessly, he meant to bring his captured limb toward him, but there was no way she was letting go. She went down, slowly, still clutching his arm, falling until their foreheads came together. Close, shoulder to shoulder, hands intertwined like climbing plants, she felt his blank stare bore through her. He exhaled, pouring scalding air toward her, mingling her senses with his.

"Thank you."

His features softened ever so slightly, his mouth barely twisting up in a tiny smile, yet to her it felt like the sun was born all over again.

_----How was it?_


	12. Balance

He woke up among burning flames and hazy memories, blinking his way toward consciousness with a flutter of blond lashes. Everything was so bright, yet warm and comfortable. Ichigo could not remember feeling so well in months, here, his head toward the ceiling and nothing to plague his mind, unfocused as he was. A slow, satisfying sigh escaped his lips in a murmur.

_It starts like any other day._

Meaning to stretch himself like a lazy cat, he started to move his shoulders back, but suddenly stopped.

_Well, almost…_

This morning, something was different. His relaxed face looked down with mild wonder, discovering a weight he had not felt before, sprawled over his unaware body. Thin, wispy locks of raven hair escaped his coverlet, shining in the sunlight a few inches from his chin. Something in the boy's mind clicked, making him gaze in speculation as if whether or not he was dreaming.

_Now that I think of it, that crazy man that serves as my dad has not been up and about to kick me in the face this morning…_

Not too sure about what exactly was going on, or what might have happened the night before, he breathed in carefully, not wanting to wake her, and brought his arms around her light form, protective as ever.

All hell broke loose a few minutes later, as he was slowly falling asleep again, when the alarm went on in sharp beeps.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

She didn't remember where she was, or what she might have been dreaming about, but it all came to a rapid, brutal stop when she landed on the floor, hard. Choking a scream back, dignity be saved, she opened round eyes in surprise and tried to get up in quick motion, resulting in momentary spots in her vision.

Rukia glanced around, not too sure where she stood, and then her mind registered the place as Ichigo's room. Said person was also half-mangled in his sheets, a leg thrown off and confusion evident on his drowsy features. Yet, she had to make a double-take to think clearly and fast, as the sole vision of him made her boil from the insides and remember flashes of what had transpired mere hours ago.

"Ichigo?"

The beeping stopped when his hand landed sharply on the alarm. He shook his orange locks, still half-absent, and then looked up at her.

"Ugn.. sorry."

Something peculiar happened just then. His innocent look flew away in a second, replaced by a slightly perplexed expression she had never seen before, as if he was considering something. His face looked flustered, or maybe it was a trick of the intense sunlight. Both stood there, not quite gaping, but neither could exactly piece the events back together.

Suddenly feeling out of place, uncomfortable, she looked at the clock, then back at him, not trusting herself to speak. He followed her motion, his expressive brows reflecting the shock at how late he was. Ichigo jumped out of bed and grabbed his uniform in a hurry.

Still clothed in black shinigami garb and not quite corporeal herself, Rukia simply jumped out of the window.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The light was simply staggering with its piercing intensity. The hot weather didn't help; making mirage wavers across the asphalt everywhere he looked. Ichigo walked, eyes half closed and aimed down, toward school.

"ICHIGO! Oi, Ichigo!"

Frowning a bit, he lifted his head toward the shadowed grounds of the school, where the building towered its presence under the hammering rays of that blasted sun. He had to squint, but could still make the figures of Asano and company near the entrance, if only by the hyperactive boy's frantic bounce.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

From the tree-laden lawns, the girls giggled and talked of everything and nothing, just enjoying the bright, new day as usual. A tall, hair-clipped head followed the boy's entrance on the school grounds, her gaze intense and speculative.

"Something's changed."

Tasuki eyed her with curiosity, not quite following the air-headed girl's thinking.

"What changed?"

"Him. Kurosaki-kun."

The short-haired karate champion followed her gaze toward Ichigo, analysing what could have given her this impression. Perhaps it was because she had known him for so long, despite the distance that stood between them down, but she could indeed sense he was… different from his recent gloomy self.

"I think you have a point, Inoue. I wonder what happened…"

The bubbly girl simply smiled, emanating her unique aura of happiness and contentment in reply.

"What happened didn't matter. As long as he is well."

Tasuki merely nodded, fully in accord with that statement.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Classes had come and gone in the blink of an eye to him. He couldn't remember anything the teacher had said this morning, his being a growing chaos of thoughts and feelings he was only beginning to sort out.

He now stood on the roof, alone despite lunch hour. For once, his pesky friends, or more precisely, Asano, had decided to use another spot to break their fast, leaving him to his own contemplations.

_Might have been something about Chad's remark after all…He always knows everything._

He grabbed the metal rail, looking on toward the horizon, gaze lost in pale, feathery clouds and infinite blue. His subconscious fed his mind with flashes from his breakdown, his struggles, his other self… and what had finally saved him.

"Maybe I forgot what made me what I am. Perhaps I couldn't see what was in front of me all this time…"

He could picture his companions, those who had stood with him in foreign Soul Society, despite the danger.

"Pride be damned, I'd never have gone so far without them."

He remembered her astounded expression, when he had come, flying in full cloak and black cloth galore, to cloud her peaceful execution with promises of saving her no matter what. The single, outraged image of her shouting her head off for him to run made him chuckle out loud.

"Even then, I couldn't get better without you."

His hand went up to scratch the unruly, spiked hair; a habit he always had when he was thinking hard. Frowning, he rambled on, relieving himself by speaking out loud, where nobody could hear him.

"Ah, who am I kidding, I could never be alone for the life of me."

Thinking back on the last weeks, he could clearly see where his weakness of spirit had come from.

_With no eyes to see me, nobody to pester me, make me angry, give me reason to shout at, or laugh… no wonder I let go so easily._

He sighed with contentment, his mind finally clear, devoid of doubt or anguish. There would always be more battle, more blood, more blades and flourish, but never another day in defeat.

"As long as they… she… is around."

He pictured her frantically running silhouette in the back of his mind and smirked.

"And even if you run away, no matter if it's to the ends of hell and back, I'll catch you by the scruff of the neck and bring you back kicking!"

A soft hand grasped his arm, neither hard nor delicately, making a bold statement to his last trailing sentence.

"You won't have to."

He didn't flinch nor did he look away from the sky. He simply grabbed her by her school vest and placed her between himself and the ramp. Crossing his arms over her shoulders, holding her close to him from her back, he left his chin touch the top of her head, her hair flailing in the wind toward his face.

"I sure hope not, Rukia."

Her hands went up to cover his, their fingers mingled in warm embrace, and she exhaled, smiling, following his gaze toward yonder.

_----- The end._


End file.
